


Bonds of Blood

by Sintari (OriginalSintari)



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Uchihacest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 08:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13994508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalSintari/pseuds/Sintari
Summary: Bonds of blood rarely break. Sasuke knows that now.





	Bonds of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in 2005 on LiveJournal.

After I returned to Konoha they thrust us all together again. Me, Naruto, Sakura. Even Kakashi. I was forgiven. A free man. An ANBU even. After all, shinobi are more than anything pragmatic and mine is a talent too exceptional to waste. 

I suppose it was inevitable that Naruto and I would revisit the fumbling caresses that began before my… departure. When we were twelve, it had been inexperienced manhandling. I’d jerk him off, he’d jerk me off. We, who had been trained in thousands of creative ways to kill, never even thought of using our mouths. My main memories from those times are the mingled smells of sweat and grass and overarching need.

I returned more experienced and found him the same. 

But every time Naruto trailed callused fingertips down my spine, I would imagine it was Itachi’s favorite kunai instead, drawing patterns down the plane of my back. 

“Open your mouth,” my brother would say clinically, like he was addressing a test subject, and I would comply. 

“Taste it,” he would command, and I would respond by opening my mouth wider until he could glide the flat of the blade over my tongue. Sometimes he would trail the kunai up his own arm, or his inner thigh, and on those occasions I would lick the thick pulp of our blood, Uchiha blood, until I was so overcome that I thought I was dying. 

To this day the smell of blood gets me harder than anything else in this world. 

Naruto’s breath grew harsh when he came. Itachi’s rarely did. It’s amazing how quickly the scope of your world can narrow to an inn room. Four walls, a bed, a desk and a mass murderer’s pleasure. 

The one time my brother cried out as I traced my stiff tongue over the head of his cock was infinitely more satisfying than achieving genin, or Team 7 completing our first B rank mission, or any of the other minor things I thought important in those years when I was alone. 

It’s just as amazing how quickly, after the spell is broken, desire can turn to hatred. Remembering those nights, the taste of the last of the Uchiha blood in my mouth, my need to kill my brother again grew into a cold obsession, even as I dreamed of him fucking me face-down on the desk or wrenching my arms behind me as he came. 

So when Naruto came home one night with a piece of intelligence that Itachi was in the area, I knew we would go after him. For the rest of Team 7, defeating Itachi would be the culmination of our story. That night, I imagined that when the wise women spoke of us at traveling fairs in a hundred years, they would speak of how my folly tore us apart, and about how my redemption – my realization that some people are worth fighting for – brought us together again to defeat our common enemy. 

I’ve never held much stock in storytellers.

We thought we had managed to surprise them. Itachi and his disgusting sidekick. But when Kisame easily sidestepped the poisoned dart Sakura fired his way, we knew we had been anticipated. 

That wasn’t our only trick, of course. We had surrounded their cave with traps. My brother, as I knew he would, avoided all of them with ease until it was just him and Naruto, facing off on a rocky slope. 

In the short second before my brother destroyed everything that was Naruto – because “killed” is not a strong enough word – I had time to think of the planet traveling in its eternal ellipse, of rivers flowing into the sea, of how we lurch along snared in our respective paths like a wagon wheel down a rutted road, or like the dark lines I can trace under my eyes when I accidentally glimpse a mirror.

I stood there frozen, and watched it happen. My brother didn’t even look at me. 

I remembered though, how he carried me home once, after I had sprained my ankle. And at night, when Otousan’s shouts would drown out Okaasan’s pleas, he slipped into my bedroom and pressed my face into his chest until I couldn’t hear anything anymore. 

I vaguely sensed Sakura somewhere to my left, and the look of horror on her face when she realized that I was not going to step in and assist Naruto. 

After Itachi and Kisame were only thin departing chakra trails in the air, Sakura slumped against one of Konoha’s old oaks. What remained of Naruto’s body lay on the slope where Itachi had left it.

“Why, Sasuke? Why didn’t you step in?” 

I watched the moon as it rose over the horizon.

Ignored her.

“Didn’t you love him?” she persisted.

I blinked.

“Sasuke!” She spoke slower, emphasizing each world like I was a particularly slow child. “Didn’t you love him?” 

What kind of question is that?

Of course I loved him. He’s my brother.


End file.
